making smart cracks about a thousand dollars a day.'
The servants weren't ruled out, of course. There could be more than one person involved, taking turns to do things so that each would have an alibi in turn.
But one of the girls had to be involved. Only one of them could have poisoned Freddie's drink at the Tennis Club. And any one of them could have done it. The table had been small enough, and everybody's attention had been very potently concentrated on the sarong siren. A bottle small enough to be completely hidden in the hand, tipped over his glass in a casual gesture-and the trick was done.
But why do it then, when the range of possible suspects was so sharply limited?
Why do any of the other things that had happened?
He was still mired in the exasperating paradoxes of partial sense, which was so many times worse than utter nonsense. Utter nonsense was like a code: there was a key to be found somewhere which would make it clear and coherent in an inнstant, and there was only one exact key that would do it. You knew that you had it or you hadn't. The trouble with partial sense was that while you were straightening out the twisted parts you never knew whether you were distorting the straight ones . ..
And somewhere beyond that point he heard the handle of his door turning, very softly.
His hand slid into the pocket of his robe where his gun was, but that was the only move he made. He lay perfectly still and relaxed, breathing at the shallow even rate of a sleeper, his eyes closed to all but a slit through which he could watch the door as it opened.
Esther came in.
She stood in the doorway hesitantly for a few seconds, looking at him, and the light behind her showed every line of her breath-taking body through the white crepe negligee she was wearing. Then she closed the door softly behind her and came a little closer. He could see both her hands, and they were empty.
He opened his eyes.
'Hullo,' she said.
'Hullo.' He stretched himself a little.
'I hope I didn't wake you up.'
'I was just dozing.'
'I ran out of cigarettes,' she said, 'and I wondered if you had one.'
'I think so.'
It was terrific dialogue.
He reached over to the bedside table, and offered her the package that lay there. She came up beside him to take it. Without rising, he struck a match. She sat down beside him to get the light. The negligee was cut down to her waist in front, and it opened more when she leaned forward to the flame.
'Thanks.' She blew out a deep inhalation of smoke. She could have made an exit with that, but she didn't. She studied him with her dark dreamy eyes and said: 'I suppose you were thinking.'
'A bit.'
'Have you any ideas yet?'
'Lots of them. Too many.'
'Why too many?'
'They contradict each other. Which means I'm not getting anywhere.'
'So you still don't know who's doing all these things?'
'No.'
'But you know it isn't any of us.'
'No, I don't.'
'Why do you keep saying that? Ginny was with you all the time this afternoon, and I couldn't have had a gun on me, and Lissa couldn't have followed us and been at the Tennis Club too.'
'Therefore there must be a catch in it somewhere, and that's what I'm trying to find.'
'I'm afraid I'm not very clever,' Esther confessed.
He didn't argue with her.
She said at last: 'Do you think I did it?'
'I've been trying very conscientiously to figure out how you could have.'
'But I haven't done anything.'
'Everybody else has said that too.'
She gazed at him steadily, and her lovely warm mouth richened with pouting.
'I don't think you really like me, Simon.'
'I adore you,' he said politely.
'No, you don't. I've tried to get on with you. Haven't I?'
'You certainly have.'
'I'm not awfully clever, but I try to be nice. Really. I'm not a cat like Ginny, or all brainy and snooty like Lissa. I haven't any background, and I know it. I've had a hell of a life. If I told you about it, you'd be amazed.'
'Would I? I love being amazed.'
'There you go again. You see?'
'I'm sorry. I shouldn't kid you.'
'Oh, it's all right. I haven't got much to be serious about. I've got a pretty face and a beautiful body. I know I've got a beautiful body. So I just have to use that.'
'And you use it very nicely, too.'
'You're still making fun of me. But it's about all I've got, so I have to use it. Why shouldn't I?'
'God knows,' said the Saint. 'I didn't say you shouldn't.' She studied him again for a while.
'You've got a beautiful body, too. Alllean and muscular. But you've got brains as well. I'm sorry. I just like you an awнful lot.'
'Thank you,' he said quietly.
She smoked her cigarette for a few moments.
He lighted a cigarette himself. He felt uncomfortable and at a loss. As she sat there, and with everything else in the world put aside, she was something that no man with a proper supply of hormones could have been cold to. But everything else in the world couldn't be put aside quite like that . . .
'You know,' she said, 'this is a hell of a life.'
'It must be,' he agreed.
'I've been watching it. I can think a little bit. You saw what happened this afternoon. I mean--'
'The blonde at the Tennis Club?'
'Yes . . . Well, it just happened that she was a blonde. She could just as well have been a brunette.'
'And then-Esther starts packing.'
'That's what it amounts to.'
'But it's been fun while it lasted; and maybe you take someнthing with you.'
'Oh, yes. But that isn't everything. Not the way I mean. I mean...'
'What do you mean?'
She fiddled with a seam in her negligee for a long time.
'I mean ... I know you aren't an angel, but you're not just like Freddie. I think you'd always be sincere with peoнple. You're sort of different, somehow. I know I haven't got anything much, except being beautiful, but-that's something, isn't it? And I do really like you so much. I'd-I'd do anyнthing ... If I could only stay with you and have you like me a little.'
She was very beautiful, too beautiful, and her eyes were big and aching and afraid.
Simon stared at the opposite wall. He would have given his day's thousand dollars to be anywhere the hell out of there.
He didn't have to.
Freddie Pellman's hysterical yell sheared suddenly through the silent house with an electrifying urgency that brought the Saint out of bed and up on to his feet as if he had been snatched up on wires. His instinctive movement seemed to coincide exactly with the dull slam of a muffled shot that gave more horror to the moment. He leapt towards the communiнcating door, and remembered as he reached it that while he had meant to get it unlocked that morning the episode of the obliterated fingerprints had put it out of his mind. Simulнtaneously, as he turned to
